Funeral March
by szaranea
Summary: It was one of the hardest moments in her life, and she almost forgot that she was not going through it alone.


Funeral March 

**Disclaimer: **This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. 

**Summary:** It was one of the hardest moments in her life, and she almost forgot that she was not going through it alone. 

**Author's Notes:** An angsty H/Hr-fic that was written by an author who has neither written H/Hr nor angst before. Also this is un-betaed, because nobody was around to beta it when I finally got the courage to post this. 

To her, the earth seemed like it had stopped moving, like the atmosphere was slowly evaporating, squeezing the air out of her lungs. It was the hardest walk in her life, and she felt like she was making it alone, despite the masses behind her. Even though it was actually deathly quiet, she could hear the gloomy sounds of Chopin's Funeral March in her mind.

She had just seen him for the last time in her life, and she felt like a part of her would be buried along with him today. For the past ten years, he had been one of the constants in her life – always there for support, despite their constant bickering. 

She was almost ashamed that she couldn't bring herself to cry, while everybody else seemed to be doing their best to conjure up a flood. But she was not contributing to the masses of salty water. She felt far too empty for that. Who was it again that said _Après nous le déluge_? Madame de Pompadour, although she hadn't meant it like that. 

Hermione Granger had just lost one of the dearest friends in her life to a war that did not seem to take an end, and for the first time in her life she felt as if there really was no sense in her life anymore, that going on just meant prolonging her pain. She couldn't bring herself to think about all the good things they had shared in their lives. All the happy moments, all the smiles they had smiled, all the games they had played when they were smaller, oblivious to the imminent danger surrounding them. 

She could feel a headache coming. She almost felt relieved that she was still able to feel something, and was tempted to just cut herself, just to feel something, more of that delicious sensation of still being alive. 

If she had been her normal self, she would have been horrified at her own thoughts, but she was not. Not now, not today. Right now, everything was just black, black, and black. 

Hermione was so lost in her thoughts that she almost screamed when she felt somebody taking her hand and squeezing it lightly. She hadn't even noticed that she had been starting at the ground until her head snapped up. When she caught the gaze of the person holding her hand, she swallowed, feeling guilty all of a sudden. _Harry_! In all her self-pity and her mourning, she had forgotten about him. He was as good a friend to her as Ron had been, and she had been so selfish as to feel all alone in her grief. 

He smiled a small, sad smile at her, as if to tell her that he knew what she was thinking, and that he forgave her for it. 

She felt her heart beat faster for some unknown reason when he leaned in a little to whisper in her ear. "It'll be okay, Hermione," he said quietly, although he sounded more than desperate himself. "Life goes on. We have to be strong now." 

Hermione nodded. He was right, she guessed. But the pain was still too fresh – he had only died three days ago, for heaven's sake. The low tones of the Funeral March were still reverberating in her brain. She knew that the tune actually had lighter tones to it too, but her mind just seemed to skip these parts. 

Some distant part of her that was still able to think straight registered that Harry was still holding her hand, and she was astounded to find that nicer feelings were starting to spread from their joined hands. She tentatively stepped to the side a little to get closer to him, suspecting that they both needed each other's comfort more than anything right now. 

But all of a sudden she felt guilty again! She shouldn't feel good, or happy right now! Ron was about to be buried, and it was not fair to him and his family to feel better at the moment. She guessed that Ron would not want her too cry for him, but it didn't matter. She swept her gaze over the funeral procession, and was most astounded to find Molly Weasley sending a small smile her way. 

Hermione tentatively smiled back, not sure about the reason of this little interchange. She just hoped that it might make the poor woman feel a little better. 

She jumped a little when she felt Harry's breath on her neck again. He chuckled a little upon noticing this. "How about we have a nice cup of coffee after we're finished here? I'm in dire need of something to warm me up, and some company," he asked, looking at her with pleading eyes. 

She stole another glance at the mourning Weasley family, who seemed to seek comfort among themselves. Hermione deemed it best not to disturb the family at the moment. They needed time to themselves more than anything right now, so she nodded in agreement. 

She had to accept that Ron was dead, and that life would go on without him. It was hard, but as long as she still had Harry, she would manage. 

Perhaps, one day, the war would be over, and they could be happy and carefree once again. Perhaps one day, she and Harry might be more than just friends. Perhaps that was the reason for her increased heartbeat. But perhapsing was nothing that got you anywhere. For now, Hermione just had to breathe, and live. 

Time would tell. 

Be nice and leave a review. It would make my day if somebody told me that this is not as horrible as I think it is : ) 


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